


Routine Mission

by orphan_account



Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Blood, Death, Language, Lots of Crying, Swearing, and pain, can be read as ben/rook but thats not the intention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, things were going wrong from the second they stepped on the planet. Or before they even left. When he first got the Omnitrix. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. Panic is overloading his brain and he can’t think straight, all he knows is that everything is going wrong and he isn't fast enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine Mission

Ben is dying in Rook's arms, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

Rewind.

They are on a routine mission. It is simply scouting, really, just a check up on this system to make sure people like Khyber or Psychobos have not been through here. It is just the two of them, with no backup. They would be able to handle anything this small, underdeveloped world could throw at them, whether that be rogues or strange beasts or whatnot. That is what they had thought upon arrival to the world, at least.

It was a very beautiful world, to say the least. Purple and fuchsia vegetation sprang up beneath their feet, and giant mushroom-esque plants grew here and there. They were light blue in color and glew with faint luminescence, and Ben took great joy in running up to one, throwing himself at it and then bouncing off. It looked enjoyable, so Rook decided he would try it as well. All in all, it was very fun, until Ben got himself flung into a tree and ended up with sticky, candied sap in his hair and clothes. Later it solidified into a thin crusting and once Ben discovered that the substance was akin to Earth sugar, he encouraged Rook to join him in gathering handfuls of it to eat later. However, Rook himself was not a fan of too much sugar, and the sap would get stuck in his fur anyway.

Regardless, the mission had been very peaceful thus far. Rook knew Magister Tennyson had likely sent them there so they could get away from the hectic events on Earth. He was not arguing; absently as they walked, he wondered if Ben knew his grandfather had planned this small vacation for them. If he did not, Rook did not want to ruin it for him, so he said nothing. Ben did not need to be worrying about things happening on Earth.

Of course, just when he thought of it there would be trouble here too. He was, as Ben would say, inviting the universe to mess with him. He had not thought, however, that this ‘Murphy’s Law’ extended to things he did not say out loud. Apparently the universe could read minds, he thought dryly, but thought nothing of it. There was no time for that now. Cloaked figures were emerging from the woods, their dark midnight capes contrasting sharply with the blue light cast on them by the mushrooms nearby. Beside him, Ben hurriedly looked around for a place to put down his sticky bounty, but decided instead to simply drop it in favor of slamming down onto the Omnitrix and transforming into Wildmutt. Whether this decision was purposeful or not Rook did not know, but he would have guessed Ben did not mean to pick his Vulpimancer form. Black sap still coated his paws, and some was dangerously close to the gills on his neck, threatening to impede his sense of direction. Regardless, Ben let loose a feral snarl and leapt upon the figures, who had begun to fire bolts of crisp, stinging cyan energy at them. 

Rook slipped behind a nearby rock formation which they had stopped to rest on earlier, but which was now being peppered in blaster fire. He felt its smooth side pressing into his back as he looked over his shoulder cautiously, assessing the situation with sharp eyes. There were three figures attacking now, which if he had to guess, were each just a bit taller than Ben was normally. It looked like they were using form disruptor technology. Being only slightly less advanced than Earth, that sort of cloaking device was illegal on this world. Just another thing he would add to their list of transgressions, among them firing on a Plumber.

Magister Tennyson had said this world was peaceful. He hoped these were offworlders. This planet did not need to be so troubled.

Rook took a few quick shots off the side of the rock with his Proto-Tool, hitting one figure that was creeping up on Ben square in the face. A mask fell off, resembling one of the ID-Masks he had seen some people on Earth use. With their disguise removed and hood flung back, Rook could see the alien's face. They were a native of the planet, lavenderish with white patches on their smooth scaled exterior. Blood as black as the tree sap flowed from a wound on their forehead between the fingers of a four clawed hand, and when they turned in the direction of the shot Rook saw flashing blue eyes glare back at him.

Having seen his hiding place, they ran toward him, yelling obscenities that Rook dared not repeat in any language. Rook stepped out from behind the rock, now placing himself at a complete and utter disadvantage with no cover whatsoever, and faced the charging reptilian head on. He aimed carefully, then at the last moment dipped his rifle and fired into the dirt, close enough to trip the person but not hurt them. He had already hit them once; no need to do so twice. At any rate, they needed to be conscious so Rook could question them while Ben incapacitated the other assailants- which, judging from the lack of gunfire and snarling, Ben had already accomplished. Just this one left, then.

Rook grabbed the person by the clasp of their cloak and hoisted them up not too roughly, but not too gently either. “Who are you? Why are you attacking us?” He bit out, still panting heavily from the altercation. The response he received was different from what he expected.

“Ben Tennyson has ruined us!” they-she? accused. “He's brought conflict to our home! None of this would've happened if it wasn't for that asshole!” She raged on, practically spitting and foaming at the mouth. Then, he noted, she was actually foaming. Some of her blood had gotten smeared on her triangular muzzle and dribbled into her mouth. Blood that was toxic to one's own species once it came into contact with the oxygen as a defense mechanism was rare, but not unheard of. This one, Rook realized, must have made the consumer delirious. How was Ben remaining unaffected?!

Unless its effects were neutralized once it solidified into pure sugar. Only Ben.

“Wow, she's seriously gone wacko,” Ben commented from beside him, having reverted back to his normal form. “What's gotten into her? I didn't even do anything. Never even been here before now.”

In response, the captive attacker threw back her head and howled, letting more of her blood flow into her mouth. She spat and slathered grossly, choking on the black fluid as it ran, even gurgling it. All in all, a disgusting display. Absently, Rook heard Ben say “yech” but instead gently took the native’s head with his free hand and tipped it forward, then shifting his hold to keep her jaw open so she could not swallow. She seemed to be done struggling, but she choked again on the blood, making more horrible sounds. Ben made a face. Gross indeed.

Curiously, the hooded alien then began to laugh. Her panting, raggedy gasps gave way to broken chuckles, the desperate laughter of a mad person. “Finally,” she rasped. “Finally. We're gonna...we're gonna free our world of you goddamn aliens, you filthy aliens! Get...get off our world! F-fuckers.”

Ben was clearly taken aback by the abrasive language. His eyebrows drew together and his nose scrunched, clearly about to spit out a withering retort. “Lady, I don't know what you think I- we- did but-” and that is where Rook stops him. Thankfully, with the skirmish ended, he had regained his senses enough that he remembers he should never allow Ben to interrogate suspects.

“Ma’am,” he interrupts instead, “please, I am not sure either of us understand why you are so up…” and it is this moment, this horrible moment when he hears the footsteps creeping up, the quiet crackle of leaves underfoot previously masked by conversation, a split second after it is already too late, this moment when things go horribly, horribly wrong.

In retrospect, things were going wrong from the second they stepped on the planet. Or before they even left. When Ben first got the Omnitrix. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. Panic is overloading his brain and he can’t think straight, all he knows is that everything is going wrong and he isn't fast enough to take the knife for Ben, and instead the blade sinks into his best friend's back, through the vulnerable flesh unguarded by Proto-armor- oh god, he could have taken the blow for Ben and been just fine, if he'd only been paying more attention, dammit- and all the way out his chest, the sleek curvature of the weapon painted in startling human red, and Ben slumps against the assassin, whispering a startled “shit” at the same moment that Rook screams “BEN!” but it's already too late and the blade is already in too deep, really really deep, and everything is going wrong and he drops the laughing woman who is still cackling even as her own blood works against her, who he's sure was just buying time- why didn't he realize that before?- and without thinking, he grabs his weapon off his shoulder and fires.

This is the only time he has ever shot someone at point blank range, he thinks, and he hopes it's the last time he'll ever have to. The assailant can't duck, can't dodge, and he drops like- like a sack of potatoes. Rook knows he should feel some sort of bland satisfaction at the efficiency with which he dispatched his opponent, but he doesn't. He doesn't feel anything but numb distress. He lunges forward and catches Ben, roughly, barely, crudely so that he cries out and Rook gasps, shit, he just hurt Ben even worse and-

The knife. The knife is gone. It fell out when the hooded figure d- fell. Dammit. Now there's nothing to stop the blood flow. He scrambles around futilely, grasping and clawing at anything, anything he might be able to staunch the bleeding with, but there's nothing there's nothing there's- the cloak. He reaches out to grab the black-soaked garment but Ben's shaking hand stops him, grabbing at Rook's wrist but not quite able to get hold. It's shaking bad so Rook just takes Ben's own wrists in his hands to steady him and quickly glances down even though he doesn't want to, doesn't wanna see the blood splattered on Ben's pale face and chokes a gasp back when he does. “Ben,” he pleads. “Ben.” It's all he can say. He knows now, he can see that even if he could get that cloak and press it to Ben's wound it wouldn't be enough, but he still wants to anyway, doesn't want to acknowledge the horrible, awful truth.

Because Ben is dying in Rook's arms, and there is nothing he can do stop it.

“Rook,” Ben demands, weakly at first but now stronger, firmer, “Rook,” he pants, barely holding onto the loose fabric at the collar of Rook's armor- when did he grab on? The Revonnahgander doesn't remember. Suddenly everything is a haze. He can't tell if it's because he's stressed or if it's because he's crying. Probably both. Ben thrusts his shaky left hand out at Rook, who immediately gives something of a broken shriek and shoves it away, no no no, he knows what that means and he doesn't want this, no, this isn't right, Ben can't be dying. He's only partially aware that between his sobbing he keeps repeating the same word- “no”- over and over, again and again, as if he can convince himself otherwise, but it isn't working.

“Ben,” he cries, hugging the younger boy close, “don't. Don't do this. I can't...I can't lose you. Please Ben.” He's begging and he sounds like a child. It's only fitting. The desperation he feels in this moment is greater than any he's ever felt before. It's pulling him down, smothering him, causing the sunken feeling of defeat to mesh with the electric shock of hysteria.

“Rook,” Ben repeats, or he tries to, and he ends up flinging spittle and blood into Rook's face with each frame-wracking cough. He speaks again, dimly, faintly, but this time with finality. “I trust you.”

And then he is gone. That is it. There is nothing. The Omnitrix disengages, coldly, and latches onto its new host, who remains weeping grossly over the freshly-dead corpse of its previous bearer. “Host terminated,” it proclaims flatly, making Rook nearly scream but he chokes it back, almost hyperventilating through the corners of his mouth, awful spit flying and mixing with his fears. The Galvan device clamps down on his wrist and he bites back another shriek, clamping his right hand over his mouth while his left, oh god his left, it's still holding Ben’s limp, bare wrist. “Recalibrating.” This time Rook really does sob. He's whispering incessantly to himself, but it's incoherent, and he doesn't even know what he's saying. He's all too aware of the hooded beings regaining their senses all around him, slowly grabbing their weapons and preparing to fire, but they're curious and don't know what's going on.

Bitterly, Rook stands. Every nerve is raw, white hot and burning. It is as though he's suddenly become hyper-aware of anything and everything around him, smells the burning scent of fired weaponry, the acid bite of Ben's blood mingling with the sickly sweet sugar of alien blood and the crisp, tingly smell of his own tears, tears that won't stop falling. His breath hitches, his chest shudders. Shoulders slumping, tired, defeated eyes that say, “Don’t make me do this,” which he then says out loud, in the hopes that they'll realize what they did to him- to Ben. “Don't make me use it. Please.” He implores, one last time. His hand twitches almost imperceptibly, but they see it. Immediately their guns cock and aim at his head. They're charging up, ready to fire in a ring all around him.

He screams, and slams his own on the watch face.

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmmyes I love me some good heart-rending angst, so I figured I'd try my hand at it. I relish in my own pain.  
> Also, it's past midnight and I think this is not helping.


End file.
